


Mandy's Match

by Harsley



Series: A.U.Gust [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: A.U.gust, AU, Bipolar Disorder, Blind Date, M/M, Sexual Content, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 13:39:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2111985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harsley/pseuds/Harsley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mandy thinks she's found the perfect guy for her older brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mandy's Match

**Author's Note:**

> This is longer than any one-shot has a right to be. Enjoy!

Mickey should have known he was in trouble when Mandy showed up unannounced on his doorstep with takeout from his favorite Mexican restaurant. She had plied him with enchiladas, carne asada, fajitas, and all the salsa one man can eat along with a large pitcher of sangria to wash it all down. Mickey was throwing out the containers when he heard Mandy laugh a bit too loudly. He ignored it as he pushed down the Styrofoam then heard it once more followed by,

“Oh my, God, Ian.”

Deciding to make her scheme go a lot quicker, Mickey walked back into the living room and asked dutifully, “Who's Ian?”

“Guy from work.”

“Oh yeah?” Mickey took a cigarette from his back pocket and looked around his living room for a lighter.

“He just sent me the funniest Snapchat with his little brother – who's black for some reason – in it. You need a light?”

“Yah.”

Mandy light up his cigarette as her brother pushed her legs out of the way so he could sit down on his loveseat. Mandy put her feet on his thighs without missing a beat. She pushed her phone in his face. A candid picture of a redhead dressed in a dark suit filled the screen. He seemed to be mid laugh at something being said by someone not in the screen.  
“That's Ian,” Mandy told him, still holding her phone up.

“I figured,” Mickey said slowly, not sure where this conversation was going.

“Isn't he hot? Doesn't he just make you go... cray?”

“What the fuck does that even mean?”

“I don't actually know. It's something Ian's sister, Debbie, says all the time.”

“Are you guys like... banging, then?”

Mandy finally put her phone down as she sat up to look at her older brother while somehow avoiding his eyes. Finally, she admitted, 

“No. He's gayer than a picnic basket.”

“Then why...” Suddenly it all clicked. Mickey stood up, all ready indignant as he caught on to Mandy's plan. How could he be so stupid? Mandy had been dropping fucking hints all night about how Mickey needed to 'Get out more' and 'Play the field'. Little had he known, she had this secret ginger weapon in her back pocket, ready to pull out when he was at his most vulnerable.

“Mick,” she was saying.

“No way,” he stormed out of the room and into the kitchen. “No fucking way. I'm not being set up on some fruity ass blind date by my goddamn sister.”

“Who said anything about a date?” Mandy followed him into the kitchen where she poured herself another glass of sangria. “I was thinking more of a casual thing at my place.”

“Jesus, Mandy. You think I'm such loser I can't get a date.”

“I think you scare any romantic prospects away with that whole FUCK U-UP thing you got going on.”

“I was thirteen when I got this tattoo.”

“It's not just the tattoo. It's your whole fucking demeanor.”

“Fuck off.”

“When was the last time you got laid?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“That long, huh?”

Mickey didn't answer. Instead, he and Mandy finished the rest of the alcohol before he went to bed and she went to crash on his couch. He thought the matter was dropped, even though over the next few weeks Mandy would find some way to turn every conversation back to Ian. 

Gallagher. That turned out to be his last name. On a whim, he had searched him up on Facebook one night. He was cute enough, Mickey guessed, with faded freckles and green eyes. According to his profile, he had been in the Army for about five years before taking a security job at the place where Mandy worked. It also seemed he had grown up a few blocks from Mickey and Mandy's childhood home before CPS thankfully evacuated them from the Milkovich House of Horrors. They had ended up in Springfield when he was nine and Mandy was seven. Their adopted parents were June and Harold, an elderly couple who needed the foster parent income to supplement what the checks they got from the Social Security office. They were there for the big events in Mickey and Mandy's lives: graduations, school dances, first dates. They were even accepting of Mickey's homosexuality despite their devout Catholic beliefs. When they passed on last year, Mickey and Mandy were heartbroken but picked up the pieces and went on with their lives. 

Of course Mickey didn't count on Ian Gallagher being a part of his life, but one day Mandy had got Mickey over to her apartment under the guise that she had found some of Harold's old records that Mickey might want. They both had loved the Ramones. When Mickey knocked on his sister's door, he was surprised when a man of about 6'1 opened the door. Mickey, at eye-level, had a view of his chest. It was obviously muscular, accentuated by a fitted gray crew-neck sweater. Mickey looked up past the pale column of his neck and up to his face. Big fucking mistaking. Ian Gallagher looking down at him with a wide smile and knowing eyes.

“You must be Mandy's brother,” he smiled easily before glancing over his shoulder. “She stepped out for a minute. Come in.”

Mickey wanted to say of course he could come in. It's his sister's apartment after all. But for some reason his tongue isn't working. He only follows Ian into Mandy's living room. It takes a moment before he hears the music playing in the background. It's not the classic rock on vinyl like Mandy had promised but

“Fucking Beyonce?” Mickey smirks. “Really?”

“It's on a Pandora station.”

“Why would anyone listen to a Pandora station where they play fucking Beyonce?”

“Maybe your sister likes Beyonce?”

“You think you know my sister?” Mickey asks as he goes into Mandy's kitchen in search of alcohol. “You don't know my sister until you've fought my sister.”

Mickey's hoping the kitchen would be a reprieve from Ian. Instead he follows Mickey into the kitchen where he watches Mickey like some kind of fucking museum display from the bar. Mickey drinks his beer self-consciously, fighting the urge to squirm under Gallagher's watchful glare.

“So what do you do for a living?” Ian asks finally.

“I, uh, work in hospitality,” Mickey mumbles evasively. 

“Oh really? What realm?”

“I manage a Hilton downtown.”

“With those tattoos?”

“I was thirteen. And I wear band aids on my fingers when I'm at work.”

Ian is smiling at him in a way that makes Mickey ensure if the redhead is laughing at him or attracted to him. Mickey's sure it's the former as there is no way this guy is remotely in his league. He could probably double for an actor or model or some shit. Perfect bone structure, slicked back hair... Jesus, Mickey needed to get a fucking grip. 

Luckily, Mandy swooped in with a giant box of pizza before Mickey could make a total ass of himself. 

“Hey,” she looked agitated as she sat down the pizza. 

“Problem?” Ian asked, sounding genuinely concerned. 

“Almost had to use my baton on this creep outside.”

“Need me to handle him?” Mickey asked.

Mandy looked at him for a long moment before turning to Ian before a slow smile spread over her face. That look, of course, was quickly replaced by a look of confusion – for Ian's sake, Mickey was sure.

“What are you doing here?” she addressed her brother.

“You said you found some of Harold's old records,” Mickey prompted. “And to come over after I got off of work.”

“Right... The records are in my closet. Which is in my room. I'll go get them.”

“Need any help?”

But she was all ready exiting the room. Mickey turned to Ian who was watching Mandy leave as well. He turned back to Mickey and shrugged. 

“The sad part is, she thinks she being subtle,” Ian commented. 

“That's Mandy for you.”

“I see the resemblance though. Especially around the eyes and that whole 'I'll-fuck-you-up aura' the two of you have going on.”

Mickey looked down at his crude tattoos self-consciously. Maybe Mandy was right about the vibe he put out but instead of being scared, Gallagher seemed intrigued. 

“Your job keep you busy?” Ian asked. 

“I work about 50 hours a week,” Mickey answered. “Nothing too bad.”

“You're a lot busier than me. But if you ever wanted to catch a drink or get a movie – I mean catch a movie or get a drink, here's my card.” 

Ian held out a tiny sliver of cardboard and Mickey found himself reaching for it before he could stop. Mickey turns it between his fingers and reads the world in pretty font and pretty silver lettering. 

“My personal cell's on the back.”

Again, Mickey wasn't sure what to respond to that. On the rare occasion some guy actually made an attempt to exchange info with Mickey, they would exchange iPhones or some shit. Gallagher here was almost... chivalrous. This time when Mandy interrupted, Mickey was less grateful. She popped back in with a crate of old vinyls that Mickey barely looked at. He looked between Mandy and Ian before muttering something about having to be at work and making his escape. He was barely out the door when he heard Gallagher utter,

“He's not bad.”

 

Ian was is on his second scotch and soda when Mickey rushes in Allium, a bar at the Four Seasons. Ian doesn't even notice the brunet's arrival until he hears someone, slightly out of breath, order a beer. Only then does Ian turn around to regard the older man who looks as if he's stepped out of GQ magazine spread in his navy blue suit and off-white shirt with a purple tie to boot. His dark hair is slicked down and parted and Ian has the insatiable urge to reach out and mess it up.

“Sorry I'm late, man,” Mickey says as he takes a seat next to Ian. “There was an issue with this new executive chef making all his fucking demands like he's Wolfgang Puck or some shit instead of some schmuck who studied at Johnson & fucking Wales in goddamn Rhode Island. This job is such fucking bullshit sometime.”

“I only got here like twenty minutes ago,” Ian shrugs. “It's a lot nicer than that shithole you work at.”

“Fuck. Off.”

They receive dubious looks from the surrounding patrons because of their colorful language but they ignore everyone as they sip their drinks. Ian looks around, a bit wide eyed. 

“You know, I never thought I'd actually be able to afford to have a drink in a place like this,” he confides in Mickey. “I mean, we grew up dirt poor on the southside. Some winters we didn't have heat. I never got my first car or go to prom. And the only way I would ever see a place like was when I'd hook up with some rich old guy I met in Boystown.”

“Same,” Mickey finds himself speaking absentmindedly before correcting himself. “I mean the not having a lot of money part. Not the rich old guys part. And if that's the case, I think I may be a little bit too young and a lot of bit too poor for you.”

“You're fine. Jeez. Maybe even better than fine. When Mandy mentioned to me that she had a brother who I might be interested in I was like 'no fucking way'.”

“Me too!”

“But you're all right.”

“All right?” Mickey glances down at his beer self-consciously.

“Yeah, you don't fucking suck.”

“That's because you don't know me. Don't let the tailored suit fool you, I'm an asshole. A prick. Total fucking douche-bag. And I look shitty in pink.”

“Well, I'm not so hot myself.”

“Mandy built you up as Mr. Perfect.”

Ian chuckles darkly at that. Mr. Perfect, his ass. He was secretive to a fault, bad in high pressure social situations, managed to attract bullies like fucking flies to honey, and not to mention his Bipolar Type 1 Disorder. That shit was a motherfucker and a half. But Ian knew a good thing when he saw it and it just happened to be standing in front of him right now at the Four Seasons. The hotel where him and Ned used to meet up. Go figure. 

“I'm not an angel,” Ian does admit, “but I'm trying to be better than I was.”

“How were you before?” Mickey asks. 

“Unwell.”

Ian leaves it at that. He probably sounds like some pretentious asshole trying to seem mysterious or some shit but he didn't think he and Mickey were close enough for him to reveal his tragic backstory. Instead he let Mickey settle the tab to make up for his tardiness and the two make arrangements to meet again. 

“Michael Bay movies are fucking terrible, man,” Mickey complains as he and Ian load up on snacks from a local bodega.

“Well, I'm not watching a movie about adolescent reptiles to get my mind fucking blown,” Ian counters as he picks up a bag of Flamin' Hot Cheetos. “And Bay didn't even direct it. Besides, it's fun. What's wrong with fun?”

“I'm only twenty-two months older than you and you make feel like an old man.”

“Maybe you are my type after all.”

They use Ian's huge not-man-purse to sneak in food to the movie theater. The one in the orange mask is kinda funny but all Mickey can think about is how he didn't get home from the hotel until five in the morning because the laundry room flooded. He also thinks about the fact that there was a robbery in one of the suites and the police are supposed to interview him early in the morning. Mickey's so lost in thought he doesn't realize Ian is pouring rum into his drink until a light from the projection screen glares off the silver of the flask.

“The fuck are you doing?” Mickey whispers anxiously.

“Ever tried a rum and Coke?” Ian raises his eyebrows before turning his attention back to the screen. 

Mickey takes a sip of his drink, surprised at how strong it is. “Jesus, man.”

“Lightweight.”

That gave Mickey pause. No one in high school or college could drink him under the fucking table. It didn't matter that he was only like 140 pounds and 5'7. He could hold his own against anyone. Even pretentious little smug fucks like Ian Clayton Gallagher. He took a long sip of his Coke, making sure Ian noticed him out of his peripheral. After a few drinks from the coke, the jokes became funnier and Mickey's laugh a bit louder each time. He cries at the big act two plot twist and is filled with a triumphant sense of spirit or some shit after the movie is over. Oh, yeah. He's also wasted. Like piss fucking drunk in the worst way. Ian's buzzed too but Mickey definitely got the brunt of the spiked drink.

“You wanted me drunk so you could take advantage of me,” Mickey argues as he leans on Ian for support. 

“I didn't ask you to drink most of the fucking thing,” Ian reminds him. “I just wanted you to loosen up so later on when I did take advantage of you, you wouldn't be your uptight, grumpy old man self.”

“I am not a grumpy old man.”

“What-the-fuck-ever, dude. But like I said, I like older men.”

Eventually, they're at Ian's. It's a studio and a bit smaller than Mickey's place. They shrug off their jackets and their shoes – Mickey's too fucked up to even try to make it back to his place that night. They share a heated look as awareness passes between them. Finally, one of them, closes the distance between them and they're kissing. 

Mickey's standing on his tip toes and Ian's leaning down at an awkward angle so they can press their mouth together. They both taste sickly sweet from the drink. Mickey only breaks the kiss to pepper kisses along the side of Ian's neck to the exposed flesh Ian's v-neck reveals. Meanwhile, Ian makes quick haste in finding Mickey's belt and undoing it. He takes it off and throws it down in a flourish. Mickey counters by pulling Ian's shirt over his head. He takes a moment to drink in Ian's perfectly sculpted chest, the faint freckles. He kisses that perfect chest, swipes his tongue over each nipple before kissing lower.

“Mickey,” Ian's rasping.

Soon, Ian's belt follows Mickey's to the ground. Mickey undoes Ian's fly and just as his hand is about to slip belief his briefs, he hears a moan. But not one of encouragement or arousal. It's more of a prelude to a... a gag. Ian covers his mouth as he runs into the bathroom. Moments later, Mickey hears the unmistakable sound of retching. A few minutes go by before he decides to check on Gallagher. He finds him lying on his back next to the toilet. He doesn't seem to have thrown up as the toilet is pristine and he didn't hear any flushing. He half carries, half drags Ian to his bed and lays him down on his side. He places a wastebasket near just in case the redhead gets any funny ideas during the night. Eventually, sleep finds Mickey as well and he drifts off with thoughts about a certain too-tall fucker.

Ian is surprised to find Mickey next to him when he wakes up. He's still in his clothes from the night before, sans shoes and belt of course. His dark hair is uncharacteristically messy and he's a bit of a soft snorer. He also has his right hand touching Ian's left arm. Ian sits up, letting Mickey's hand fall away. A quick glance at his bedside clock tells him it's well past time to take his medications. 

After a quick trip to his bathroom, Ian found himself waking up his brunet companion. Mickey rolled over on his back and looked up at Ian before groaning and closing his eyes again.

“What time is it?” Mickey asked.

“A little after seven,” Ian replies.

“Fuck. I gotta get going. I have a thing at the hotel.”

Mickey stood up and made his way over by the door to find his few discarded items of clothing. Ian followed him anxiously. What exactly did you say to a man who put his hand down your pants only eight hours earlier? 

“I could make you a quick cup of coffee,” Ian offers as Mickey ties his shoes. 

“I'll just get some when I get to the hotel,” Mickey answers. 

“You sure? I've been dying to show off my new single serve thing.”

“Maybe next time.”

“So there's gonna be a next time?”

Mickey looks up at Ian and bites his bottom lip to keep from from smiling. “Of course there's gonna be a next time, but you gotta stop trying to get me drunk man.”

“Well then my plan backfired,” Ian points out. “I'm the one who passed out.”

“You're the fucking lightweight man.”

That hadn't been true before Ian was diagnosed but now alcohol just did not mix well with his meds. He thought he would have been able to handle a little watered down liquor but obviously his body had something different in mind as was its wont most days.  
He walked Mickey to the door and smiled down at the man.

“You know, I would kiss you but I suspect you have really bad morning breath,” Ian jokes.

“Same could be said for you, asshole.”

Mickey left with a promise to call Ian later that day. And Ian was actually nervous about it. It had been so long since had been... excited about a guy. Probably not since high school when he started seeing Ned for the first time after Monica's last appearance. That also was the last time he had started seeing a guy without worrying about how he was gonna casually slip in the conversation that he was a fucking crazy person. 

If there was one thing Mandy liked, it was to gloat. She was probably the only person in the known fucking universe who could look triumphant while painting her fucking nails. Yet, she did as she sat on Mickey's couch flicking a brush over her fingernails. She turned to her brother, who had about five or six shirts resting on the back of his couch, trying to pick one for his date.

“So tell me again what happened?” she prompted.

“Nothing yet,” Mickey told her, his fingers ghosting over a sleeveless purple button down shirt. “We've been on two dates – one to get drinks at Allium and then a few days ago we saw a movie.”

“Did you fuck yet?”

“We've kissed. Like once.”

“You've only kissed? You must like Ian then considering you try to get up your ass as soon as possible.”

“Please shut the fuck up.”

“I think it shows character development on your part.”

Mickey only rolled his eyes as he held up a black button down shirt. Mandy nixed that idea with a simple shake of her head. Mickey groaned before going back to his closet to find something else. He was going through everything he owned when he heard Mandy call from the living room,

“What time is your date again?” 

“In like five hours.”

“Oh, man. You got it bad.”

Across town, Ian was answering a few questions of his own. Dr. Shaw was a middle aged psychiatrist who specialized in the mental health of young adults. Ian was kind of ashamed to admit that he was referred to her by Ned back when they were hot and heavy. In retrospect, Ian saw it as a ploy for Ned to pawn him off and move on to next hottest thing. Still, Ian was grateful he was in such competent hands.

“I got your results back from Dr. Harrington,” she was saying. “The Lithium isn't adversely affecting the function of your kidneys so we can continue with that. You're also on Depakote.” 

“And sometimes Seroquel,” Ian reminded her. 

“Right for your manic episodes. Are you experiencing any other side effects I should know about?”

“Sometimes nausea and they general feeling of blah but other than that...” Ian shrugged. 

Shaw operated out of an office building so at least Ian was spared the embarrassment of being treated at a hospital. Her office was sleek and modern, much like the woman herself. She could come off as cold but Ian knew she had a wicked sense of humor underneath that tough exterior. He seemed to be attracted to that.

“How are things for you personally?” Dr. Shaw inquired. 

“Great, actually,” Ian told her. “I finally got down to Canaryville to see Fiona and the kids. They're doing great. I even had lunch with Lip. He's thinking about going to Northwestern for grad school.”

“Yes, but what you, Ian?”

“What about me?”

“Well, are you seeing anyone?”

Instantly Mickey's face popped into his mind. His sheepish smile, those hazy blue eyes, that stupid little mouth thing he was always doing. He couldn't stop his face from flushing.

“So there is someone,” Shaw deduced.

“My friend, Mandy, set me up with her older brother. We've only been out twice but it's going pretty well.”

“And the mood stabilizers aren't affecting your ability to maintain an erection or ejaculate?”

“Jeez, Doc, I wouldn't know. Like I said, we've only been out twice.”

Dr. Shaw only shrugged with a small smile on her face. She knew of course about Ian's less than perfect past. Sleeping his boss, Kash, and her colleague, Ned. Not to mention the guys he slept with when he was manic and before he realized hypersexuality was a symptom of his disease. When he regained some semblance of control over his bipolar disorder, he still had a few one night stands that were all in good fun. Shaw was too much of a professional to tease him but she couldn't help the little smile in her eyes.

“When are you seeing him again?” she wanted to know.

“Tonight,” Ian replied easily.

“Well, I trust you'll be safe. We don't need another scare like the one we had when you first came to me. And I hope you're staying away from old patterns, Ian. You have all ready come to the conclusion that your past 'relationships' were unhealthy because of the power dynamics that come from an being adolescent with a man who is much older or an employer. You have also told me you believe the sexual experiences you had while manic were unhealthy because your mind was addled by mind altering drugs and copious amounts of alcohol. But also remember your disease is not a death sentence for your social life. You can still have fun as long as you have a system or a schedule in place and everything is healthy and consensual.” 

That really hit home from Ian. Monica had always treated her bipolar as if was a one or the other situation. She could either be Fun Monica or Downer Monica in her mind and there was no in between. In many ways, Ian had found that he had bought into that belief. When he decided to get help, he figured there was no more carefree Ian. He couldn't be in the military anymore with his illness. No more schemes that typified the experience of being a Motherfucking Gallagher. Now he had hope. Maybe, just maybe, he could have the best of both worlds. 

 

Their date, dinner at Ian's place, had quickly dissolved into the pair making out against the redhead's kitchen counter – pasta be damned. 

Ian had Mickey pinned against the counter and lifted him up so the brunet's weight was braced by the counter. Ian rubbed his hand against Mickey's chest while his tongue explored his mouth. When his fingers began trying to undo the small little buttons of the shirt, he found himself fumbling. He tore his mouth away from Mickey's mouth and began planting kisses along his jawline and tried to look down at the shirt. When that still didn't help him get a proper grip on the buttons, he found himself tearing at it as he nibbled on Mickey's ear. The older man let out a small groan of protest as the shirt he had taken so long to pick out was now began shredded by Ian's impatient hand. It soon turned into a moan however as Ian tweaked the now exposed nipple with his other hand. When the shirt was in a ruined pile on the floor, Mickey quickly sent Ian's shirt the same way. Now their mouths reunited and each of them reviled in trying to get the upper hand on the other one. For each thrust of one's tongue, the other would push with his. Meanwhile, Mickey's hands made quick work in unbuttoning Ian's jeans. He lifted his feet and used the big toe to help pull down Ian's jeans. 

“You're eager,” Ian smirked.

“Shut the fuck up,” Mickey ground out as he rubbed Ian through his underwear. The redhead didn't shut up, of course. He moaned against Mickey's mouth as the brunet continued to work him.

“Fuck.” Ian tried to keep his breathing normal as looked up at Mickey. “Not. Here. Bedroom.”

With a final squeeze, Mickey let up and let Ian lead him to the bed in the far corner of the studio apartment. Of course that didn't stop Mickey from tackling Ian onto the bed as soon as he was close enough. He climbed up on those pale legs and straddled himself so he sat on top of Ian's lap. Ian reached up for a kiss before but Mickey pushed him back down. He wanted to savor this. He let his eyes wander over Ian's perfect body similar to how he had to the last time they were together. Those freckles on his shoulders. He leaned down and kissed them. Those defined abs that licked a trailed down. The tattoo of an eagle with an automatic rifle in its clutches. He would ask about that later. He discarded the briefs and turned his attention to the most perfect cock he had ever seen. Long, pink, and perfect. He wasn't even aware that his hand was around it until he heard Ian's sharp intake of breath. His eyes flickered up to the younger man under him. His green eyes were hooded in arousal as Mickey ran his fingers up and down the hardened shaft experimentally. Mickey tightened his grip and Ian moaned loudly. That encouraged Mickey who fastened his pace. It was becoming apparent that he was also creating an uncomfortable friction. He soon replaced his hands with his mouth to remedy that particular problem. 

Ian let out a groan of surprise but quickly got with the program. He snaked his hands through Mickey's hands as the older man went down on him hungrily. His tongue swirled around the head and as much as his mouth could handle as his hand made up for what he couldn't put in his mouth. Soon, Ian wasn't sure if he was using the hand in Mickey's hair to pull him down further or pull him off to stop his impending orgasm. As if the brunet could tell how close he was, he pulled off, his face flushed. He looked up at Ian expectantly who was still trying to regulate his breathing.

“What are you waiting for?” Mickey asked, still a smart ass even when flushed with arousal. “Get me ready then get on me.”

Ian rolled his eyes as he retrieved the lube and the condoms from his nightstand while Mickey discarded the rest of his clothes. Without further ceremony, Ian flipped Mickey onto his stomach and slipped two slicked fingers inside of him. Mickey groaned into the pillow. Ian worked him a bit more, enjoying the sounds he seemed to be able to coax out of the brunet usually so cool under pressure. He slipped in a third finger that caused Mickey's neck to snap back before he turned to look Ian in the eye, looking utterly tortured. 

“Please,” he managed to choke out.

“Please what?” Ian played dumb as his fingers moved against a particularly sensitive spot. 

“Get inside me. Now, Gallagher, fuck.”

Ian didn't need to hear any more. He put on the condom, made sure it was secure before pushing into Mickey. The older man arched into Ian's pelvis, meeting Ian thrust for thrust. It was soon apparent to both of them this wasn't going to last very long. Ian's hand snaked around Mickey to tug at his neglected cock. 

“Fuck.” Mickey groaned as he clenched the sheet. A second later, climax overcame him. He spilled into Ian's hand who followed him off the edge seconds later.

“Jesus,” Ian panted. 

They had collapsed into a heap of sweaty bodies with Ian's front pressed against Mickey's back, their legs in a tangled knot, their arms laying side by side over Mickey's head. Ian's head rested near Mickey's ear.

“Am I too heavy?” Ian asked. Mickey only shook his head 'no' and soon they both fell into a deep sleep.

Ian's biological clock woke him up around at eight. That was when he was supposed to take his second dosage of pills. He glanced over at Mickey who was laying about six inches away on his stomach, facing away from Ian. 

Ian slipped out of bed and went over to his bathroom and poured the pills from each bottle into his palm before swallowing them down with a glass of water from a cup he kept by the sink. Almost immediately, that taste of bile creep up in his mouth. One of the better side effects of his meds. Ian reached for his toothbrush and caught Mickey watching him from the doorway. 

“How long have you been standing there?” Ian asked, all ready knowing the answer. 

“Guessing those ain't Flintstones vitamins?” Mickey's eyebrows flicked up. He was only wearing his pair of boxers, a lot more than Ian. 

“Don't worry about it.” 

Ian wet his toothbrush and put toothpaste on the bristles. As he begin to brush his teeth, he felt Mickey's eyes still on him critically. 

“Those pills leave a bad taste in your mouth?” the brunet ventured. 

Ian rinsed out his mouth before answering bitterly. “That's one of the many side effects along with tremors, diarrhea, constipation, and peeing blood occasionally.”

“Fucking Christ, what are you on?”

“Antidepressants, mood stabilizers, and sometimes anti-psychotics.” The admission was out of Ian's mouth before he could stop himself. If Micky was so intent on finding out all of his secrets, he wanted to show him just how grim and dirty the reality was. If he bailed now, after only three dates, it would hurt a lot less than if it all became more. “I'm bipolar. Okay? Fucking happy now?”

“Bi-bi, what? What the fuck is that?” 

“What I have used to be called manic depression. Basically, it's extreme highs and lows for weeks and months at a time. I'll give you a fucking pamphlet or something for my therapist's office.”

Ian walked out of the bathroom and went about picking up his discarded underwear and jeans and putting them on while Mickey cleaned himself up in the bathroom. Ian had the insatiable urge for a cigarette. He hadn't smoked since he was seventeen and traded carcinogens for endorphins. When Mickey returned, he surprised Ian by getting dressed.

“I better get going,” Mickey said as he pulled on shirt. “I have to be at work around five. I'm technically all ready supposed to be asleep.”

Ian didn't say anything. He just watched him get dressed as the vibe in the room become more and more uneasy. Ian knew it was his fault for the mini meltdown in the bathroom but couldn’t come up with the words to apologize or explain so he just watched as Mickey left without so much as kiss goodbye for dude who's dick he had in his mouth not too long before. 

Ian groaned the second the door closed and buried his face into the pillow that still smelled like Mickey. Leave it to him to fuck up with the best guy he'd been with in for-fucking-ever.

Mandy's voice was on speakerphone as she interrogated him. He had waited until a decent hour, about eight in the morning, to call her about his last date with Ian. She was getting dressed on her side of the phone while he had been up since four AM cleaning. He had lied when he told Ian he needed to come into work at five AM. He didn't go in until two in the afternoon. He had lied because he was a fucking coward in every single way. Mandy apparently agreed.

“So you went over to his place, fucked him, then bolted?” she recapped. 

“Kinda,” he admitted. “It was just a lot, you know.”

There was a brief moment of silence before Mandy went on the offensive. “You're a fucking pussy.”

“Excuse me?”

“I know we were only technically southside for less than a decade but, really, grow a fucking pair. When we stayed with Terry, we went through more brutal shit than this. Terrible, horrible shit that I can barely talk to my fucking therapist about. Yet I introduce you to a guy who any homo this side of Lake Michigan would love to have – smart, great job, way out of your league – and you bail for something he can't control having. Something he's treating and getting help for. Maybe you're more like Terry than you think?”

“I'm not my fucking father!” Mickey yelled at his phone.

“Then act like it,” Mandy countered. “You've done some really shitty things, Mickey. Shit you that you consciously made a decision to do. Ian can't help this.”

Mickey knew Mandy was right. Of course she was right. That's why he had Mandy think for him most of the time-- she was the one who put Ian in his life in the first place. Now, here he was, royally fucking it up before anything actually happened. 

Ian clicked from one screen to the other. Working at a bank wasn't the most interesting job but it was the first thing he had found after being discharged from the Army. For his fucking bipolar disorder. It was the one thing he wished he could change about himself. He knew it was stupid and detrimental to all the progress he had made in therapy to admit such a thing but there it was. That's how he fucking felt. It had brought him nothing but a bunch of traumatic shit and a fuck-ton of medical bills. Medical bills he needed his stupid head of security job to pay for. Ian switched to a screen and saw Mandy's face. She was a great at her job as a loan counselor. Very low default rate.

Ian fidgeted in his seat as his phone went off. He looked up and saw Mickey had just sent a text. Probably your standard 'It was fun but I'm not really looking for anything right now'. Translation: I'm just not into you or your mental illness but I don't want to sound like a jerk. He swiped open his phone, preparing for the worse. 

Mickey: Sorry for freaking out last night. Maybe we can talk about it at my place tonight? 11-ish?

Milkovich was probably one of those guys who felt less guilty if they did it in person. As tortuous as it would be for Ian, getting rejected in person, he wasn't exactly in the mood to to make it easy on Mickey. He texted back with a simple letter 'K' before trying to focus on his work.

Mickey planning a date an hour after he got out of work probably wasn't the best idea. He barely had time to shower, find a suitable outfit, and dump out the takeout onto plates. He was opening a bottle of Jack Daniels when he heard a knock. He opened the door and saw Ian standing in his doorway, a case of beer in his hand. 

“Great minds, I guess,” Mickey joked, his hand still clutching the bottle. Ian walked in without waiting to be asked. 

Mickey watched him anxiously. He saw Ian's look of surprise at the food sat out on Mickey's dining table. He dropped the beer unceremoniously on the kitchen counter and opened one for himself without offering Mickey one. He finished it in one long sip before crushing it and throwing haphazardly into the trash. Only then did he turn to look at Mickey.

“You wanted to talk?” he prompted.

“Can we eat first?” Mickey asked, sitting down. “I'm fucking starving, man.”

“Ian.”

Mickey looked up from his slice of pizza and up at Ian who was towering over him. Upon closer inspection, Mickey could tell he had more than a drink. His eyes were rimmed red and his breath smelled vaguely of vodka.

“The fuck are you talking about?” Mickey asked, utterly exasperated.

“My name is Ian,” the redhead was saying. “Not Gallagher, not man, not dude. My name is fucking Ian.”

Had Mickey never really called Ian by his first name? Not even when they were fucking? He only shrugged and tested the name slowly on his lips. “Ian.”

Seemingly pacified for now, Ian sat down and took a big bite of the pizza. It was Chicago deep dish with pepperoni, sausage, and bell peppers with extra cheese. That was the way Mickey ate it and Ian wasn't registering any complaints. It was probably good for him to soak up the alcohol he had consumed if he didn't want to pass out on Mickey again. After three slices a piece, Ian wiped his mouth and prompted Mickey.

“You wanted to talk?”

“Uh, yeah. I'm not good with feelings and shit so let's leave it at I was an asshole last night and I freaked out when I really shouldn't have,” Mickey said in a rush. To pat himself on the back, he poured himself a shot of Jack. He swallowed it quickly. When he looked over at Ian, the redhead was watching him curiously.

“You don't want to stop seeing each other?”

Mickey looked offended at the suggestion. “No. You want to breakup or some shit?”

“I didn't even think there was anything to break, to be honest.”

“Don't ever say any stupid shit like that again.”

“Fine.”

But Ian smiled easier. A lot easier. Mickey was so happy to see him happy that he didn't even mind when Gallagher passed out on him without fucking him properly first. He just ran his hand through Ian's hair and took his place beside Ian in bed. Hopefully, a place that he would find himself often.

**Author's Note:**

> [Follow me on Tumblr](http://harsleywrites.tumblr.com/)


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